Heart Like a Wheel
by Stephane Richer
Summary: And it's only love, and it's only love that can wreck a human being and turn him inside out


Heart Like A Wheel

Disclaimer: I don't own Tite Kubo's _Bleach_ or Kate and Anna McGarrigle's "Heart Like a Wheel".

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"Uryuu," she says from her seat on the edge of the porch. "Come here."

He obediently runs over to her, buries his face in her chest. "Mama, mama," he says. The proverbial knife twists in Ryuuken's gut. Sometimes he hates being a doctor. It's not all bad; the money's good and he's helped some people.

But he loses others.

And while he's always been observant, now he's even more so, especially when it comes to health. And he sees his wife is fading. Her shoulders tremble, even after she's spent years learning how to hide the shaking and how to stop it and when to take her medicine. She has painful hot flashes a few times every week. Her brow is always knitted; he can see the "I'm-in-pain-but-I-won't-say" look that he's quite familiar with more often than usual. She's losing the battle, really losing.

Any number of things could have pushed her over the edge. Disturbances in spiritual pressure, of which there have been many lately. Dealing with Uryuu (the child seems to grow needier every day, and Ryuuken isn't sure what to do about it. He's smart, but he clings to his mother too much. Perhaps he can sense that she is going and is making a desperate attempt at keeping her with him. It would be nice if he has a doctor's instincts. It would be horrible if he has a Quincy's instincts.) or perhaps just running the household could have gotten to be too much for her. He has been trying to alleviate all of those problems, but nothing works. The root of her problems is nowhere to be seen.

She refuses to check into the hospital. He knows she wants to be strong for Uryuu, but it breaks his heart. It's not like there's anything they can do for her in the hospital, anyway. They've exhausted every option, looked down every path. The only thing they can do is wait and hope. It's intolerable. He supposes he gets now why families are so reluctant to put their dying loved ones on hospice. They don't want to give up and let go; they want to go down fighting. This is not the easy way.

Uryuu calls out, "Daddy! Daddy!" and he walks over to the two of them.

They're both smiling. He knows he has to push his worry and preoccupation with death down below to some other part of himself. He has to treasure her, make the most of their time together. She pulls him down to sit next to her, and Uryuu perches himself on top of both of them. She leans her head on his shoulder. Her hair has always been so soft, and it falls over and down his shirt, tickling his neck and chest. Uryuu is still chattering away about something.

Ryuuken knows he's no good with kids, even with his own. Even when he was young, he never got on well with the other children and preferred to play alone. Uryuu is, thankfully, not like Ryuuken. On the other hand, it's a shame because they have nothing really in common. He cannot connect at all with his progeny. He sees himself in Uryuu looks-wise, when the boy turns around or when he walks, and he seems to have an aptitude for the sciences and terrible eyesight. But if he didn't know Uryuu was his son he never would have guessed. He has his mother written all over him, the way he thinks and smiles and his physical features all paying a clear homage to her. It's almost painful to think that if she had been healthy, she would be running around, carefree in the way he is, trying to catch butterflies but never fast enough. Ryuuken tightens his grip on her shoulder and she glances up at him. He's always wished he could make the worried look vanish from her face but he can never assuage her fears. She worries for him, even when he thinks there's nothing to worry about.

But he doesn't know how he'll survive without her. This is one of those times when her worrying may be justified.

Even so, he wants her to forget her worries and breathe easy—even if she can't do it physically, she should do so mentally. And she does relax in his arms a bit. He can provide that much for her, after all she's done for him. She's listened to him and advised him and loved him when he thought he was at his most unlovable. It's not obligation; it's something more. He would not let her stay if it was only obligation keeping her by his side. There are so many chains that they have already been born into, and they should at least have the opportunity, the freedom, to love.

He has loved her forever. He cannot imagine ever not loving her. He presses his lops to the top of her head. Uryuu leaps up off their laps and starts doing cartwheels on the grass.

"Be careful not to get your clothes too dirty!" Ryuuken calls.

"He's just a kid," Katagiri replies.

Ryuuken wants to retort that when he was a child he never got dirty, but he supposes Uryuu is like a normal child. He can play in the dirt and get germs and build up immunities. Ryuuken supposes if he'd had the chance he might have enjoyed himself, but it was never an option. And besides, there's no time to argue with her. He just shrugs. Another white butterfly zigzags by, and Uryuu's head jerks, following it. He begins to run after it again, distracted from the gymnastic moves that he has not quite perfected.

He can tell she wants Uryuu to be this flighty and carefree forever, even after she's gone. But that will be impossible. Every child must grow up sometime and realize how the world tries to mercilessly beat humans down. How even if you try to save people, strangers and loved ones alike, they cannot all be saved. Hollows and personal demons cannot always be eliminated. Soon, his arms will be empty. He hugs her tighter, draws his other arm around her.


End file.
